Tucker took another sip of wine and his slightly furrowed brow smoothed. “Is this kind of service typical?” he asked. “I know things are different up here, but even so . . .” He looked at me expectantly.
“Well,” I said, “this restaurant in particular is—”
“Minnie, is that you?” boomed a male voice.
I closed my eyes.
Quincy, I thought. Please let him be with Paulette. If he wasn’t, if he was still infatuated with the much-too-young Dena, Aunt Frances’s summer plans were not in a good place. Aunt Frances was already upset enough over Stan. She didn’t need matchmaking guilt piled on top of that.
“It is you!” Quincy said. “Didn’t you hear me calling? Hey, you all right?”
I opened my eyes. “Hey, Quincy. How are you?” My gaze drifted to his companion. Not Paulette. I smiled. “Hi, Zofia.” I made the introductions.
“Lovely, lovely.” Zofia’s flowing dress billowed as she turned. “Our table’s over there, Quince. Nice meeting you, Tucker. Come on, Quincy.” She tugged on his arm so hard that he almost lost his balance.
Tucker looked at me. “Do you know everybody in this town?”
“I’ve only been here three years,” I said. “That’s not nearly long enough to—”
“Good evening, Minnie,” Mr. Goodwin said, his cane tapping as he drew near. “Are you having a nice dinner?”
• • •
The entire meal went like that. Every time Tucker and I would start a typical first-date conversation—where did you grow up, where did you go to school, sisters, brothers, do you ski/bicycle/hunt/kayak/run?—someone would pause at our table to talk to me or Kristen or Chef Larry would barge in to serve more courses.
The only things I learned about Tucker were that he didn’t have any allergies and that he’d never been to the Grand Canyon. And I’d only learned that because Kristen asked about allergies and because a passing Louisa and Ted Axford happened to mention their spring trip to Arizona.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” I muttered as the restaurant’s door shut behind us and we started walking to the marina.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked.
“Sorry. Nothing. It’s just—”
“Yo! Minster!” Mitchell Koyne called through the open passenger window of his pickup. “Your car break down? You guys want a ride or something?”
“Thanks,” I said, waving, “but we’re good. Nice night for a walk.”
“Sure?” He revved the truck’s engine. “I can get you home in a flash.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
Mitchell roared away and I thought I heard Tucker make an odd noise.
“What’s that?” I asked. “Did you say something?”
“No, it’s just—”
“On your left,” a male voice called. “Oh, hey, Minnie.” Cookie Tom, riding past on his bicycle, braked to a squeaking stop. “I’ve been thinking, if you want cookies for the bookmobile, give me a call and we’ll set something up. Discount rate, and you can come to the back door and not have to stand in line.”
“Tom,” I said, “you are the love of my life.”
“Ah, that’s what they all say.” He waved and was off.
“So,” Tucker said. “Your bookmobile. It’s a new addition to the library?”
“Practically brand-new. It’s only—”
One of the hardworking Friends of the Library waved at me from the other side of the street. “Minnie, hey, glad I caught you. Got a second? Did I hear that you’ve convinced Caroline Grice to do an art show? However did you do that?”
• • •
Almost an hour later, we’d finished walking the route that usually took me fifteen minutes. Between various Friends, library patrons, coworkers, business owners, and marina rats, I was pretty sure we’d been stopped by everyone I knew. As a first date, the evening was a complete bust. Any element of romance that managed to bloom had been squashed within seconds. I would never find someone to date in this town. There were mail-order brides; maybe I could find a mail-order husband.
We came to a slow stop at the dock that ran out to my boat. “Would you like to come in?” I asked without much hope.
“That would be nice,” he said, “but I have to be in the ER early tomorrow morning.”
“Oh. Sure. I understand.”
We stood there, not talking. Boats moved gently in the water, straining against the lines that held them in place. Waves lapped, distant voices murmured, and a boat far out on Janay Lake puttered past. All peaceful, calming nighttime noises, all summer sounds that I loved, but tonight I hardly heard them at all.
A handshake. I’d be lucky to get a handshake, let alone a peck on the cheek. I was doomed to die alone.
I took a deep breath. “Look—”
“Minnie.” Tucker moved close. Took both of my hands. Rubbed the backs of them with his thumbs. “There’s just one thing I want to do right now.”
Go back in time and change his mind about asking me out, probably.
Instead, he leaned down. “Minnie,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
The kiss was gentle and tender and soft and warm, everything you could want in a first kiss. Except for one thing.
“Hey, Minnie-Ha-Ha!”
We broke apart as Chris Ballou shouted out a second time. He was on his little Boston Whaler, coming in after an evening’s fishing. “Hey, you two aren’t doing anything I wouldn’t do, are you? Hah! Say, Min, I got an idea on how to fix your electricals. You know, that problem you been having with your bilge? Tell Rafe to stop by.”
There it was again, the odd noise Tucker had made when we were walking back to the marina. I looked more carefully this time. “You’re laughing,” I said in surprise.
“Of course I am.” He got the words out between what were now obviously bursts of uncontrollable laughter. “Your bilge? Of all the ways to ruin a kiss, that’s got to be in the top ten.”
The funny side of the evening finally hit me. I grinned. “Maybe even the top five.”
“Next time,” Tucker said, “let’s go somewhere out of town.”
His good-bye kiss was the classic peck on the cheek, but inside my heart was singing. There was going to be a next time!
• • •
The next morning I made a quick phone call to Gayle Joliffe of Maple View AFC. Out of thin air I conjured up a story about a book title that her assistant Audry and I had been trying to remember. I told Gayle I’d found the book, and if I had Audry’s last name, which I’d been told but couldn’t remember, I could look her up and give her a call.
“Oh, honey, you don’t need to go to all that trouble.” Gayle rattled off her phone number.
I hung up, thinking that the impossible had happened. Someone had been too helpful. What I really wanted was Audry’s last name. With that, I could do some library research magic and find out if this Audry and Stan’s Audry were the same person. But all I had was a first name and a phone number.
Of course, I had a phone number. And a computer with multiple search engines.
Minutes later, I had Audry’s last name (Brant), her address (17981 Valley Road), a map to her house, and enough information about her to confirm that, yes, she’d been married to Stan. Privacy? What was that?
I thought about what to do next as I finalized the July employee schedule, thought about it at lunch when I went out for a walk with Holly, thought about it all afternoon while I staffed the research desk, and thought about it while we ate dinner. “We” being Eddie, who was eating cat food, and me, who was eating take-out sesame chicken.